


Don't Humour Me

by Intempestivus



Category: Gangsta. (Manga)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 07:26:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4737770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Intempestivus/pseuds/Intempestivus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Delico didn’t dare give an answer, he just wanted to enjoy the words, even if he was hesitant to believe them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Humour Me

Delico rubbed his elbow, his mouth twitching to the side and his eyes flicking to the opposite direction. “Yang, really, you don’t have to humour me,” he said, his voice calm, but the redness of his cheeks and ears betrayed what his voice didn’t.

Yang’s bright smile faltered for a moment, but he laughed - forcing it up through his nose - and shook his head. “I’m not humouring you, Delico.” Yang, without hesitation, pulled Delico into a tight hug.

Delico’s arms were stuck in an awkward position between his and Yang’s chests, but he didn’t mind. Instead of pushing him away, Delico moved his head so that his chin was resting on Yang’s shoulder. His eyes slid closed, and he pressed the side of his head against Yang’s.

“I do love you, you know.” Yang’s words were rumbles against Delico’s ear, and his breath was hot and tickling on his neck.

Delico didn’t dare give an answer, he just wanted to enjoy the words, even if he was hesitant to believe them. He didn’t want to soil the warm, light feeling in his chest with the ugly, selfish words he wanted to say. Yang deserved more than him. He deserved the moon and the beauty of the stars, and Delico couldn’t give him that. All Delico could give him was the mottled, fleeting moments of twilight - where the sky was beaten with sullied purples and burnt reds.

Bruises and blood. That’s all he could give, bruises, and blood, and a short, disappointing life.

Delico buried his face in Yang’s suit jacket. He didn’t deserve this comfort, but he selfishly clung to it. The pricks of tears in his eyes made Delico pull away. “Please don’t humour me,” he whispered, refusing to make eye contact with Yang, “please just don’t.”


End file.
